The Offer
by Tyraa Rane
Summary: He's always dreamed about being a pirate. But when the opportunity arises for him to join his best friend on his way to becoming the most feared pirate in the Caribbean, will he accept the offer? Prequel fic, one-shot.


_Disclaimer: __Not mine. Monkey Island, Guybrush Threepwood, LeChuck, and other characters appearing in this fic are all property of LucasArts._

_Author's Note: __This was first inspired by a challenge in a writing community I'm in, to write something illustrating the major themes of adolescence. Somehow, that idea combined with one of my old theories, the idea that Guybrush and LeChuck knew each other before MI1, and away the story went. Reuploaded Sept. 14, 2009, to fix some formatting quirks generated by FFdotNet...somehow.  
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_The Offer_

* * *

Guybrush Threepwood jumped over a fallen rain barrel and narrowly avoided landing face-first in the mud. He paused a little while to catch his breath and count his blessings, then ran on. When he sprinted out of the narrow alley, it was to collide face-first with a passing cart.

"Watch where yer going!"

Guybrush rubbed his forehead and offered the driver an innocent, apologetic smile. "Sorry!"

The driver only rolled his eyes, straightening his hat. "Bloody kids..." He kept going down the dirt road, no doubt to nearly run over more innocent bystanders, Guybrush assumed. Sighing, Guybrush pulled himself to his feet and began dusting the dirt from his clothes.

A close inspection revealed that nothing had been torn--_thank goodness, _he thought--and the only thing which had suffered much was his white tunic. It had a couple of dirt stains on the back, though he figured that if he actually bothered to wash the thing they might come out easily enough. Happy to find that he hadn't done any real damage to himself, Guybrush quickly resumed his journey, though at a slower pace. The closer he got to the docks, the thicker the traffic got, and he didn't want to run into any more carts.

As it was, though, he hardly had to worry. He was skinny--barely skin and bones, if that--and people had a tendency to ignore his presence. He slipped easily through the crowd with no other accidents.

The _Sapphire _was only a minor ship in the British Royal Navy, assigned the tiresome duty of patrolling the area around Port Royal and a few of the neighboring British colonies. Nothing exciting ever happened in that area--all the pirates were scattered amongst distant islands Guybrush had only vaguely heard spoken about once in a seedy tavern. The only possible threat was the nearby Spanish colony of Puerto Pollo, though it came under attack from the pirates so often that it was hardly any _real _threat--the captains just liked to say that to make themselves feel as if they were doing something useful.

Because of its small size, the _Sapphire _kept close to Port Royal and had to return often for supplies, usually once a month. Guybrush's ears were always alert, listening, waiting to hear if she was due into port any time soon. He'd only just heard of the _Sapphire_'s arrival, and they'd docked nearly an hour ago, which was why he ran.

He slipped through the crowd of dockmen who'd shown up to help the _Sapphire_'s crew load and unload supplies, fought his way past a vicious tangle of nets, and stopped just short of the gangplank, trying to catch his breath.

"You're late."

Guybrush looked up with wide, expectant eyes. Standing at the top of the gangplank but out of the way of most of the traffic, leaning against the ship's railing, stood Charles, as always. His unruly black hair had been trimmed and carefully tied back since Guybrush had last seen him, and he now wore a midshipman's uniform rather than the scruffy clothes he used to own. It looked new--still clean and pressed, at any rate. He smiled, though his narrow black eyes hardly seemed friendly.

Guybrush couldn't help but grin back. "I didn't know you'd be back into port so soon!"

"Excuses, excuses." Charles rolled his eyes, but in the next instant his aloof demeanor disappeared and he rushed down the gangplank, hurriedly giving Guybrush a friendly clap across the shoulder. Guybrush reeled and almost fell over from the force of the gesture. Charles, taking no notice of that fact, continued on talking. "Well, don't you notice anything?"

Guybrush nodded quickly. "You got promoted," he said, self-consciously straightening a wrinkle in his dark, patched pants. "Midshipman?"

"Yeah, and it's about time, too. I'll be a lieutenant before you know it, Threepwood!" He grinned and grabbed Guybrush by the shoulder, pulling him away from the crowd. "Come on, let's go. I could use a drink."

Guybrush tried to squeak out a small, feeble protest--every bartender in town knew he was too young to buy a drink, and he didn't have any money besides. But Charles, already into his twenties and obviously enjoying the pay that came with his new promotion, was unlikely to be deterred. Guybrush sighed and let him lead him back through the crowd--albeit with much less grace and stealth than Guybrush typically used. Along the way, some of Guybrush's enthusiasm at seeing his friend again returned.

"Did you see any pirates this time? Did you?"

"Not this time," Charles answered, sighing. "I heard we're headed for the waters near Puerto Pollo next, though. We'll see some then for sure."

Guybrush fell silent for all of ten seconds, contemplating this. Then, "Well, did you run into any Spanish galleons? Any _conquistadores_?" His eyes went wide just trying to picture all the gold the galleons were rumored to carry. Charles rolled his eyes at him.

"Threepwood, do I_ look_ like I just got back from the Spanish Main? No, of _course _we didn't run into any of the Spanish. They're not stupid enough to come near here."

Guybrush nodded slowly, almost sadly. "Oh. Right."

Hearing the defeated tone in the younger boy's voice, Charles stopped, turning around. "Hey," he said softly, his mood suddenly lightened, "I didn't mean it that way. Now come on, we're almost there. I've got somebody I want you to meet. I think you'll like him."

That seemed to cheer Guybrush up a bit. "Really?"

"Yes," Charles answered, suppressing another sigh, "really." He grabbed Guybrush's elbow so as to get a better hold of him and yanked him down one of Port Royal's more disreputable streets. Guybrush recognized it from a few, cursory glances he'd seen once or twice as he went by, but he'd never actually been down the street before. There were more rats than there were people, and Guybrush wasn't overly fond of rats.

Charles led him down the street and into a back alley filled almost to the bursting point with old, rotting crates of supplies that had never been used. Guybrush thought he heard rats squeaking in one of the crates as they passed; he almost slammed right into Charles trying to get away from it.

"How much further?" he asked, trying to keep the whining tone out of his voice.

"Not much," Charles answered distractedly. He was busy navigating them both through the tight maze of crates, headed for a door on the alley wall that was so well-concealed Guybrush didn't even notice it until they were practically standing on top of it. Charles knocked twice, paused, then knocked three times, and then waited. Eventually, the door creaked open a little ways. Guybrush strained to see anything in the inky blackness beyond.

A shadowy figure on the other side of the door studied them both for a while, then grunted, "'Bout time ye got here. Who's the runt?"

"I'm Guybr--_oof_!" Charles elbowed him in the ribs so hard he nearly doubled over.

"He's with me."

"If ye say so," the man answered. "C'mon in."

The door opened only far enough to allow one person to enter at a time. Charles wasted no time in stepping inside, yanking Guybrush in after him.

The darkness inside was complete, but Charles walked on with confidence. He led Guybrush down a narrow passageway, his boots stamping against the hardwood floor with every step. Guybrush on the other hand trailed behind with a tiny, shuffling step that barely made a sound. He kept looking back over his shoulder, hoping to catch a glimpse of the man who'd let them in, but since he'd closed the door again he seemed to have disappeared.

"Where're we going?"

Charles snorted. "Just be patient, all right?"

The passageway quickly brightened and widened, opening up into a dimly lit room filled with tables, chairs and patrons--a bar. Guybrush coughed as smoke, rather than air, filled his lungs, but Charles didn't seem at all affected by it. "This way," he grunted, and pulled Guybrush over to a table in the room's darkest corner.

A young man about Charles's age was seated at the table, nursing a drink like it was the last thing he owned in the world. His hair was black, wild and out of control, and his wardrobe choice left something to be desired--he had on torn green pants and a dirty white shirt. As Guybrush and Charles approached, he looked up, and Guybrush caught sight of his narrow black eyes, thick eyebrows, and prominent nose and chin.

"'S about time you got here. Siddown." Then, noticing Guybrush for the first time, "Who's the sewer rat?"

"This is Guybrush. He's a good friend of mine, don't worry. I told you about him, remember?"

The man studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah, you did."

Charles took a seat, motioning for Guybrush to do the same. Guybrush pulled out a chair--it squealed against the floor so loudly he thought for sure everyone in the bar must now be staring at him--and sat down. He perched at the edge of the chair, sitting on the palms of his hands.

"Threepwood, this is another friend of mine. His name's Largo. Largo, this is Threepwood."

Guybrush leaned so far forward he nearly did a faceplant into the table. "_Largo_? As in Largo La--"

Largo slammed his hand down on the table, cutting Guybrush off short. "No, Largo as in Largo LaFeet." He snorted and rolled his eyes at Charles. "Not real bright, is he?"

Charles didn't say anything. After a long silence, Guybrush, undaunted, continued peppering Largo with questions. "I thought the Spanish fleet was taking you back to Spain--weren't they going to, you know, hang you or something?"

Largo just snorted and rolled his eyes again. Finally, Charles answered for him. "He's got connections, Threepwood. Every good pirate's got connections."

"Oh." Guybrush paused to think on that for a little while, then started back in on the endless barrage of questions. Largo quickly cut him off by slamming his hand against the table again.

"Look, I didn't risk my neck to show up here just to get pestered by some nosy kid. We going to talk or what?"

Charles nodded. "Yeah, sure."

Guybrush just looked between the two of them, more than a little confused. "Talk about what?"

Largo ignored him. "So what's your next patrol route look like?"

"We're headed for the open water between here and Puerto Pollo."

"My ship can shadow yours," Largo said, nodding, "but not near Puerto Pollo. I ain't going anywhere near there."

"So hit us on the second day--we'll be far enough from Port Royal, and Puerto Pollo won't be close enough yet."

Largo nodded again. His hair bobbed up and down with him like it had a life of its own--Guybrush had to work very hard not to giggle. "You sure you got enough help? 'Cause I ain't going to waste my crew on some half-brained scheme."

"It'll work," Charles growled darkly. Guybrush jumped back--he'd never heard Charles use that tone of voice before, and it frightened him a little.

"It'd better." Largo took a long drink from his mug. "So what's the story with the little...what'd you say his name was?"

"Guybrush Threepwood," Guybrush supplied eagerly. He beamed, ignoring yet another derisive snort from Largo.

Charles smiled, his usual almost-cheerful demeanor returning again. "Well, I was thinking the other night, and I thought we could use his help." He turned and addressed Guybrush directly, still smiling. "The _Sapphire_'s looking for a new cabin boy. I think they'd take you on--and that means you're in on our little scheme here."

Guybrush stared blankly for a moment. He'd only half-processed everything Charles had said. "I'd get to be cabin boy?"

"Better than that," Charles crowed, "when we're through you'll be first mate!"

Largo opened his mouth to say something, but a quick, dark look from Charles stopped him in his tracks. Guybrush just sat there, jaw hanging open. "So...but...wait...what?" He thought back over everything Largo and Charles had been discussing and his eyes widened. "Are you going to _mutiny_?" He suddenly stopped and looked around, terrified of being overheard.

"No, no, no..." Charles patted him on the back reassuringly. "It's not so much a 'mutiny' as it is a 'commandeering.' I'm in the market for a ship. My friend Largo here owes me a favor. And the _Sapphire_'s a nice enough ship--perfect for a pirate just starting his career, eh?"

Guybrush's eyes grew as wide as saucers. "You're turning _pirate_? And you want _me_ to—to--"

"You like pirates, don't you Threepwood? You've always told me you wanted to be a pirate. Now here's your chance! We'll need you on board the _Sapphire--_you can sneak into places I can't and do a little sabotage to her weapons. Make things easier for when Largo here 'attacks' us."

Guybrush looked back and forth between Charles and Largo. Largo did nothing to reassure him or answer his questions--he simply smirked and took another drink. "But...but..." Guybrush looked back at Charles. "How long've you been planning this?"

Charles shrugged. "A few years. This is just the first good chance we've had."

"Look, I don't think he wants to help us. You shouldn't've brought him here."

Charles tried to smile reassuringly at both of them. "Of _course _he wants to help us, Largo. I'm his best friend! Why _wouldn't _he help me? And you _do _want to be a pirate, right Guybrush?"

"Well...yeah...but..."

"Good! Then it's settled." He clapped Guybrush on the back, nearly sending him reeling again. "Threepwood, go run and tell Captain Nelson that you're interested in begin the _Sapphire_'s new cabin boy. Tell him I think you're perfect for the job." When Guybrush hesitated, Charles shooed him out of his chair with surprising force and pushed him towards the door. "Go on! Go! It's not like the rats in the alley are going to eat you or anything. Geez."

Guybrush bit his lower lip and nodded slowly. "Um...right...thanks."

"And try to look more excited; you look like you swallowed a bad mug of grog or something."

He nodded again. Now that he thought about it, maybe Charles was right--he _did _want to be a pirate, and it wasn't every day that you found out your best friend also happened to be friends with a notorious pirate like Largo LaGrande. "Okay," he said, sounding much more cheerful, "bye!"

He dashed away down the dark hallway. As soon as he was gone, Largo glowered at Charles and slammed his mug down on the table. "I thought you said _I _was going to be first mate. Your right hand man, you said. My hearing ain't going, is it Chuck?"

Charles sighed and rolled his eyes. "If you want to get Threepwood to do anything, you've got to promise him something. Something big. That doesn't mean I have to actually _give _it to him. Don't worry about it...we can drop him in a pirate town or something the minute we've got the ship."

Largo snorted and drained the last of the grog from his mug. "Yeah, he'd do great in a place like Scabb."

Charles laughed so hard at the thought of it that he nearly fell out of his chair.

* * *

Guybrush hurried down the streets, again weaving through the crowd with relative ease. He quickly found his way back to where the _Sapphire _was docked and began looking around for her captain. He'd only seen Captain Nelson a few times--he was a tall, overbearing sort of man--but he didn't catch sight of him now. He did, however, see a midshipman polishing his shoes just a few feet away. Guybrush cleared his throat.

"Hi!"

The man went on about his business like Guybrush wasn't even there. Guybrush sighed, a little frustrated, but tried again. "Excuse me—hey!"

The man finally looked up at him. He looked around, squinting his blue eyes, then looked back at Guybrush with a distinct look of amusement. "What d'_you _want?"

"Um--have you seen Captain Nelson around anywhere?"

He laughed. "And what would a scrawny lad like _you _be wanting with Captain Nelson? Better yet, what would the _captain _want with _you_?"

"Um--" Guybrush stopped, his confidence fast waning. "Um, well..."

The longer he hesitated, the more impatient the man became. "Look, lad, I don't have time for this. So unless you--" He stopped and smiled. "Say, I know you--you're that little street rat who's always hanging around Chuck." When Guybrush didn't say anything right away, the man continued, now laughing. "If you're looking for _him_, he's probably off with some whore--"

"He is not! He's in a tavern with Largo--" Guybrush cut himself off there, biting down hard on his tongue. The other man's eyes widened a bit, but in the end he only chuckled again.

"Some whore, Largo LaGrande, what's the difference?" He snorted, reaching out and patting Guybrush's shoulder sympathetically. His black shoe polish left a dark stain on Guybrush's shirt. "You'd be better off leaving both of them alone, kid. You don't want to get caught up in Chuck's crazy delusions, and he ain't the sort you want to be clinging like a woman to anyway."

Guybrush quickly shook his head. "But he's my friend!"

"Chuck doesn't make friends with anybody, kid, least of all scrawny brats like you. Trust me, okay? I've known him for too long." He didn't even pause to let that sink in before he moved on. "Now, why'd you want to see the captain again?"

Guybrush only shook his head glumly. "It's nothing. Never mind." He paused, then added with some hesitation, "You're not going to go and arrest him, are you? Or Largo?"

"Largo maybe, but not Chuck. We can't ever get enough evidence on him. 'Sides, the captain's convinced he walks on water. Now go on, get out of here."

Guybrush turned and shuffled off down the dock, slowly making his way along the street, passing ship after ship. He occasionally cast a glance back at the _Sapphire_, shaking his head slowly. It was on one of these glances backwards that he, not watching where he was going, ran straight into someone and was knocked to the ground.

"Oof! Er, sorry, I didn't..." He stopped and trailed off. The woman he'd bumped into was something else entirely. She was a short, rotund, Jamaican-looking woman with long flowing skirts and a hat that was nearly half as tall as she was. The skirts were white and red and yellow; the hat was a dark burgundy. She smiled at Guybrush and her dark brown eyes seemed to sparkle with some hidden knowledge.

"Do not worry yourself," she said, her voice strangely soothing. "It is nothing."

He nodded slowly--very slowly. She bent down and picked up the luggage she'd dropped when he'd run into her, still smiling. It was then that Guybrush noticed her bare feet and all the bracelets and beads around not only her wrists, but her right ankle. "Um," he continued, "right, so I'll just be going..." He pulled himself up to his feet and made to dart off as fast as he could in the other direction, but the woman held up a hand to stop him.

"There is a ship in port--her name is the _Victoria Grace_. She is a fine ship...I myself have just traveled on her. I do believe she is in need of a cabin boy."

Guybrush stopped and sputtered. "How'd you--"

She waved a hand to interrupt him. "She leaves within a matter of hours to patrol the area around Tortuga. Your friend would never find out where you'd gone."

He sputtered again, still trying to figure out _how_, exactly, this woman automatically knew everything that had been running through his head for the past ten minutes. "But...I don't want to just run away--"

"It would be better for all of us if you were to sail on the _Victoria_," she said. The tone in her voice implied that it was more of a command than anything else. "There are things in this world you must yet see, and the _Sapphire _is not a fitting tomb for you."

Guybrush's eyes went so wide he felt they might pop right out of their sockets. "But Charles--"

"Has chosen his path already. And the _Victoria _will not remain in port for long. I would advise that you hurry."

"But can't I at least--"

The woman sighed. "There is no need for you to say goodbye. You will see him again soon enough. Quite frequently, in fact."

Guybrush scratched his head. _She must be some sort of fortune teller_, he figured. He'd met more than a few of those in his time, all of them doing their best to swindle passersby out of what money they had. This woman seemed different somehow, though. She didn't seem interested in any sort of reward or money, or anything else besides offering him some advice, for that matter.

"Well..." Guybrush shook his head, still not convinced. "What if I _want _to go with Charles and Largo? What if I _want _to be a pirate?"

"Then do not give up your dream," she answered, smiling. "But I assure you that if you go on the _Sapphire_ you will not like the sort of pirate you become. Now go, the _Victoria_'s captain should be out on the docks at this very moment. If you hurry..."

Guybrush looked back at the _Sapphire _once, chewing on his lower lip. He remembered the mutiny Charles and Largo had been plotting, the mutiny he knew he wanted nothing to do with. Now that he thought on it, he didn't particularly want to get involved with Largo LaGrande, either, real live pirate or no--he'd heard the stories that circulated about him.

"Okay," he said finally, "I'll go."

The woman smiled gently. "Then I wish you good luck. Until we meet again."

She stepped out of his way to allow him a clear path to the _Victoria Grace_. He started off at a quick pace, almost a run, but stopped just a few feet away. He turned around, wanting to thank the woman. "Wait--what's your name?" But she had disappeared like she'd never been there.

Shaking his head, Guybrush started back off towards the _Victoria_.

* * *

_**Three years later...  
**_

Guybrush Threepwood took a deep breath and got nothing but a nose full of sand, seawater, and some sort of kelp. A seagull called noisily overhead, obviously taking delight in his predicament. Gentle waves lapped against his shoes, soaking his feet--lucky for him the water was warm, or he'd have been chilled to the bone, too.

He lifted his head to spit the sand out of his mouth and take a look around. It was night, just past twilight, on a tropical island he didn't recognize at all. The narrow strip of beach he'd washed up on was bordered on one side by wide, open ocean and a thick forest on the other. A tiny trail dotted with red flowers led inland. A few gentle glows cut through the trees, pointing out tiny harbors of civilization of some sort. The entire island came to a sort of climax at the top of a steep mountain--where, perched at the very top, danced a lookout's fire.

Guybrush sat up. Behind him, the narrow piece of ship's hull he'd drifted in on floated lazily in the water. Occasionally it would bump up against his back, jolting him back to reality from whatever haze he'd drifted into.

He rubbed the bump on his head, looked back at the impromptu lifeboat, and sighed. Faded lettering on its side read _Victoria Gr_. Guybrush frowned--he knew that should seem familiar to him, but he couldn't quite place it. It was lost in the haze, along with names and fragments of images--a young man named Charles, a ship, a planned mutiny, a ship turned ghost ship, an attack on the _Victoria Gr_.

Finally, one single idea managed to plow its way through while the rest sank into hazy oblivion. Guybrush stood up, checked to make sure he wasn't bleeding anywhere, and struck out towards the lookout's fire.

"I wanna be a pirate."


End file.
